


Sam and Eating Disorders

by rosworms



Series: Therapy Fanfic [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorders, F/M, M/M, No Ship, Other, Sastiel - Freeform, Wincest - Freeform, genfic, sambenny - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosworms/pseuds/rosworms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on eating disorders. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Comfort Food

Salads were a… not a comfort food, really. No food was a comfort to Sam, who struggled daily just to make himself ingest anything and keep it down.

Salads were… safe.

They were the stepping stone that helped him move up from nothing when his brother finally threatened to send him to an in-patient clinic. With Sam’s weight so severely low, Dean was certain (and convinced Sam) that any judge would grant him adult guardianship and he’d have the right to make medical decisions for Sam.

Dean had given Sam one week to start eating, and he was serious. Sam gave in and, while Dean had finished his burgers almost an hour ago, Sam sat at the table in the motel with a small boxed side salad. His eyes were wet as he held onto one piece of lettuce, shredded it into smaller and smaller pieces, and put one tiny fingernail sized piece in his mouth. 

He felt Dean’s eyes burning him as he tried so desperately to swallow that one piece of green. He gagged and brought his napkin up to spit, tears freely falling down his cheeks. 

Sam tried again. He ripped and shredded the leaves, ignoring the other nutrients in the vegetable mixture. 

After several false starts and another hour, Sam was able to eat one fourth of the small side salad. Dean hugged him as Sam sobbed and clutched his stomach. His older brother rocked him gently and held onto him because he was forbidden from using the bathroom for the first half hour after eating.

For a while, that was all Sam could stand to eat, supplementing the bare meals with tiny containers of Pediasure and multivitamins. But eventually he ate the carrots, tomatoes, and mushrooms that also came in the salad.

Dean still ordered for him since food decisions brought on near panic attacks for Sam. After a month of veggie side salads with no dressing, Dean ordered a side salad with strips of broiled chicken.

The first night he did that, Sam tore the chicken until it was almost unrecognizable as a protein. Then he mostly ignored it. 

When he noticed his hairbrush getting more clogged as his hair came out easier, Sam gave in to the chicken too. Nothing like vanity to scare you into taking care of yourself.

He couldn't stomach the meat unless it was shredded beyond belief and mixed in with the rest of the salad, but at least he ate it. He ignored Dean’s sigh of relief the first night he finished all the chicken. Dean held him as his stomach cramped from the unfamiliar food and his brother tried to tell him that vegetarians couldn't even handle broth, so he was still tougher than them.

Salads were how Dean was able to ease Sam back into eating. It never became easy and he still preferred the lightest salad he could get away with when he became depressed or overwhelmed, but they made it bearable. 

They were not comforting, but they were as close to comfort food as Sam would ever get.


	2. To Be Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on eating disorders. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.

Sweat was pouring down his face, his back. Every droplet made his skin itch and he imagined if he could push further and harder that it would feel better. 

His father’s voice pushed him on as it repeated in his head. Harder, faster, gotta be stronger. No more junk food, no more sugar. Sloppy food makes for sloppy hunters.

Sam wasn’t sloppy. He strived for order amidst the chaos that was his life. What meager control he had, he exercised to the max. He grew his hair the way he wanted. He did his schoolwork before research. And he took their dad’s new diet change and he made it better.

Dean whined about the soda and candy cutoff, but Sam knew he could do even more. He would be the best son he could be, the best hunter he could be. 

It started out slow. Carbs. He cut out carbs since they were just another sugar. That was easy. Then he cut out dairy. His father praised him when he saw how serious Sam was taking it.

Then he started skipping meals. Dean and their dad were unable to keep to the diet at all times, giving in when convenient. Pizza was so easy to order. Soda was cheap. So Sam skipped those meals.

The growling in his stomach sometimes hurt, but he was oddly proud of his ability to overcome such an annoyance. He felt powerful… like his body couldn’t control him. He was the one in control.

It was almost like an adrenaline rush, the small high he got from depriving his body. It only made sense to him that it felt good because he was doing something right. No matter the logical part in the back of his mind that told him how many calories he would need if he were going to be training. He could control how many calories he ate. 

Neither members of his family noticed when he’d play with his food without eating. Or when he’d take a piece of pizza and hide it until he could throw it away. Or when he’d drink water until he was too full to eat a bite. 

Sam had it down to a science. Depending on the training assigned to him, he could either have some beef jerky and juice, a protein bar and water, or celery sticks and water. They were going through a lot of celery.

But lately he’s been such a bitch to his family, he knew. He couldn’t help it. Everything seemed to touch a raw nerve. He was all raw nerves.

And the empty feeling that used to make him feel so triumphant was turning to pain. 

And his thoughts didn’t feel so organized anymore. They felt… obsessive. He couldn’t stop thinking about food. About what Dean might be eating tonight. What smells would be wafting out from the motel room when he got back. At night, he would think about the leftovers in the mini fridge. Just think about them. What they might taste like. 

He pushed harder, running faster, legs pumping. He tried to flee his own thoughts, to beat them home. But there they were at the doorstep when he finally came to a stumbling halt, gasping for breath and pushing his hands into his stomach. Poking as if he could fool his stomach into thinking it was full from outside pressure. 

"Dude, you okay?" He was bent over and Dean’s voice sounded from over him.

"Yeah, fine…. fine…" Sam straightened, arms crossed over himself as he forced his breathing to slow down and he followed Dean into the room. 

The smell hit him so hard, he couldn’t think straight. The bucket of fried chicken on the table was surrounded by boxes of side dishes. And Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten more than five celery sticks at a time. 

He stared hard, making a wide circle around the table on his way to the sink. He filled a glass with water and chugged, his eyes never leaving the table. 

"Sam?"

"I’m fine. Thirsty." Sam refilled the glass again and drank. It should be filling him, but he felt so empty. Black, empty, void, nothing. Food. Chicken and biscuits and potatoes and-

Without any conscious decision, Sam closed the distance between himself and the table. He picked up a drumstick and gnawed at it with desperation. He couldn’t get it inside fast enough. He tore at the meat, whimpers escaping his mouth between bites. He saw the other food and made grabs for it. He needed it. A biscuit was shoved in and he couldn’t chew fast enough. A spoon of potatoes and some more chicken. 

A sound brought Sam back to Earth and he looked up to see Dean staring at him with concern and awe. Then he looked at his hands and realized what he’d been doing. 

He’d just given in. He pigged out. Sloppy. He failed.

He dropped the chicken and the biscuit from his hands, grabbed a napkin and spit out what was in his mouth. He was shaking. His hands were shaking and they wouldn’t stop. He’d just fucked up everything he’d been working so hard for. 

He backed away from the table in a panic, spinning and rushing for the bathroom. He could hear Dean behind him, but he didn’t care. The pounding on the door was drowned out by the buzzing in his own head. 

The more he was certain of his next step, the louder the buzzing got. It was louder than any sound outside of his head.

He shoved two fingers down his throat, pulling back at the last second when his gag reflex kicked the fight or flight reaction into place. He coughed and his eyes watered. He steeled himself and pushed his fingers back again, keeping them there are he gagged this time. He gagged until he threw up. He threw up until all that was left was water and bile. 

Then he collapsed back against the wall, physically exhausted and emotionally drained.

The buzzing died down and fear washed over him as he reality set in. He’d just been so desperate to rid himself of food that he’d forced himself to throw up. And Dean was still at the door, yelling. 

"If you don’t open the damn door, I’m kicking it down!" He roared from the other side. Sam didn’t know how long he’d been threatening, but he’d been out there the whole time. Sam reached up and clicked the lock, too tired and shaky to do more than that. He curled his knees up and pressed his back into the cold tile as tears streamed down his face.

"Sammy, what the hell? What… what just happened?" Dean was quiet now, peeking in through the open door. Sam just shook his head and cried silently.

"Did you- is that… is that why you got so skinny? Because you’re doing… this?" Dean waved at the toilet. Sam sniffled pathetically.

"No… this was the first time. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. I couldn’t stop myself and then I was so gross and I had to get rid of it, ya know? I had to."

"No… I don’t know. What was that?" Dean’s brows came together as he thought hard. Then he lowered himself to crouch in front of Sam. "Oh, kiddo…"

That tone. Sam knew that tone. Dean’d figured it out. Now he felt sorry for Sam. Sam hated that. He did. But the arms that were currently reaching out to him looked so inviting and he was so tired. 

He let himself be wrapped in Dean’s embrace, something he’d denied himself of for so long. He knew he’d feel different to Dean. Less squishy. Less soft. More sharp. More bone. The shape he’d been hiding under flannel shirts and hoodies.

"It’s gonna be okay… big brother’s gotcha." Sam heard his voice catch, but he must have imagined it. Dean doesn’t cry. He never cries. 

He let himself be held and rocked until he finally gave in to his tired body’s demands and fell asleep, knowing that everything would be different, more difficult, when he awoke.


	3. Personal Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on eating disorders. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.

Sam found himself sitting in front of the refrigerator again. Food was pulled out and on the floor around him, the light from the open door casting a glow on him and the surrounding items.

He knew in the back of his mind that he was obsessing, but it seemed unimportant. What he wanted to concentrate on was organizing the food. Dairy products on the top left, condiments in the door arranged by color and size…. or maybe alphabetically? No, color and size looked better. All items with an expiry date of less than one month were to be thrown away.

Sam fidgeted as his knobby knees ached on the hard floor of the bunker’s kitchen. 

The kitchen light flicked on, startling him enough to drop the ketchup bottle he’d been holding. 

"You’re doing it again." Dean’s voice was hard, though he attempted to sound calm. Sam opted to keep facing away from him.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just organizing…"

"At 3am. Just like you used to do when you were sixteen…" Dean sighed, approaching and laying a warm hand on Sam’s shivering shoulders. "Because food. Because that’s all you’re thinking about. How much food you can’t have, what foods you want but can’t have, what foods you think you can have but ultimately will deprive yourself of anyway…."

Sam’s head drooped as Dean’s words rang true.

"Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’ve been watching your eating habits since I got you from Stanford all those years ago. I thought I’d give you some time… see if you could pull yourself back before you got too deep again."

Sam nodded. The dark thoughts that were always in the back of his mind during mealtimes had started to gain strength again lately, and Sam had tried so damn hard to ignore them. 

"Sorry…"

"Don’t be sorry, baby boy. Just don’t be afraid to come to me." Dean crouched down beside Sam and started shoving things in the fridge without any care to their organization. Sam cringed. 

"It’s… a control thing, Dean." He almost whined as he started to undo Dean’s mess, but Dean wrapped a hand around his fragile wrist.

"I know, Sammy. And you need to control that urge to obsess over this."

Sam nodded, took a deep breath, and backed away. He let Dean finish putting everything back. 

"Come on, brother. Back to bed." Dean’s hands were gentle, caressing the back of Sam’s neck as they walked back to the bedroom. Dean tucked Sam into bed before he walked around and joined him. He gently caressed Sam’s shoulder and arm as they lay facing each other. 

"You already look amazing to me, Sammy."

"Dean…. it’s not… I’m not… I know."

"I know you know. Just making sure. And tomorrow, we’re gonna get you to eat three square meals. And you won’t organize, you won’t cut your food into tiny pieces, you won’t do any of the bad habits that get you deeper." Dean’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. 

Sam felt tears in his eyes because, knowing that Dean knew exactly what he needed as they’d been through this before. He sniffled and nodded.

"Good." Dean kissed him lightly on each cheek over where tear drops had fallen. Then he wrapped Sam in his arms, so warm and loving.

Sam sighed and let himself relax in the embrace. Tomorrow would be a battle with his own personal demons and he needed the rest.


	4. Under Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on eating disorders. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.

Benny was grateful for the Winchesters giving him a place to stay and, even with Dean warning him to stay out of his deadly brothers way, he might be a little sweet on Sam. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t seem as if Sam returned his feelings. Oh, he tolerated Benny… but that was about it.

It was mostly to feel like he earned his keep that Benny started taking over the kitchen. Maybe a little bit to endear himself to Sam, but mostly to feel like he made a contribution.

The food was good, he knew. He was well aware of his culinary skills. Dean patted him on the back and mock lectured him for hiding this away the whole time they were n purgatory. Benny rolled his eyes because it wasn’t like he could do much with a harpy and nothing to season it with.

Sam almost always had some sort of excuse not to eat, even when Benny could clearly see the hunger in his eyes and the longing expression on his face. The boy was clearly just stubborn. And it finally just reached a tipping point one evening when he caught Sam lifting the lid off the jambalaya on the stove just to get a good whiff of the food.   
"Alright, ya skinny mullet. That’s enough of that. You won’t eat the food just because it’s me cookin’ it, right? I see the way you look at it and I just caught you smelln’ it."

Sam’s face turned a mighty deep shade of red and he dropped the lid back on the pot.

"No, that’s not it. I just…"

"Well, if that’s not it… then you’ll sit your rear down and you’ll eat with your brother and I tonight. No excuses."

"Y-yeah." Sam scurried out of the kitchen and Benny wondered if Sam would actually come back around for dinner.

Sure enough, one hour later Sam followed his brother into the kitchen looking like a kicked puppy. He accepted his bowl with a sincere thank you and sat down with fork in hand.

Benny watched as Sam picked around in his bowl, eating the rice and leaving every other ingredient at the bottom. He shrugged and heaved a mental sigh, but it was better than nothing so he left well enough alone.

"Not so bad for a vampire, eh?" He smirked.

"Benny, that’s not…" Sam let his fork clatter into the bowl and pushed the bowl away.

"It’s not you. Samantha’s always been a princess about his food. Picky kid can’t just eat what’s in front of him unless it’s a pile of lettuce or something." Dean laughed.

Benny raised an eyebrow at the death glare that Sam gave Dean before storming out of the kitchen, his small bowl not even half finished. Dean happily dumped the rest of Sam’s food into his own bowl and scarfed it down with enthusiasm.

The next day Sam agreed to take a plate of food as long as he could eat it in his room. Benny acquiesced, just happy that Sam was willing to eat his cooking.

When Benny went to collect the dirty dishes, he found the dish empty but Sam’s garbage was full of the meal.

So at the next meal, he told Sam he had to eat at the table like everyone else. It was the least he could do since Benny put all the hard work into making the meal.

"He’s got a point, Sammy." Dean agreed.

"Yeah, yeah…" Sam accepted his plate of food and sat down. He picked at it until Dean pointed out that he was being ungrateful. With a huff of annoyance, Sam ate his plate clear of food.

"Glad you seemed to like it." Benny smiled. Sam nodded and left the table while holding his stomach.

"I didn’t let him know I made a dessert." Benny remembered, getting up to go after Sam. Sam’s bedroom was empty and Benny was about to check the library when he heard a gagging sound from Sam’s bathroom.

Oh.

It felt suddenly as if someone had pulled the rug out from under his feet and Benny found himself leaning against the wall for support as everything about Sam started to make a sick sort of sense.

The bathroom door clicked and Sam walked out, face paling immediately when he saw Benny waiting for him.

"Uh… just… I think maybe something didn’t agree with me." Sam stammered.

"Like food in general?" 

"What? No… I’ve just never been good with cilantro, ya know, and-"

"You don’t have to lie to me. I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve seen this before." He was sad that he had to be the one to confront Sam about this.

"Benny, I don’t know what your talking about. I told you it was just-"

"Stop lying!" Benny’s roar silenced Sam and the hunter cringed away from him. "You have to stop doin’ this to yourself. I’ve seen how quickly it can get out of control."

"I’m fine. I’ve been dealing with it long enough to have it under control.”

"You think so. Because that’s what it’s about, right? Control? Your brother told me all about you. The demon blood, Lucifer, the cage, the hallucinations… your whole life has been manipulated by people around you. So you took control over the one thing you could… food." He could see in Sam’s face that he was correct. "But, cher, it’s controlling you now. You see that, right?"

Sam’s stance was defensive. His arms were crossed over his body and his head was down, but he gave the smallest nod of his head.

"Please, don’t tell Dean." Sam whispered as a tear left a trail down his cheek.

"Naw, of course not. But we are going to work on this… together." Slowly, so he didn’t startle, Benny brought his hands up around Sam and pulled him into an embrace.

It was as if the final lock had been broken, and Sam finally let himself go within Benny’s arms.


	5. Won't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on eating disorders. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.

It wasn’t something that Benny noticed right away. He barely knew the man at first and would have had no reason to suspect anything. But it was different now. They shared space, they were intimate, they were together.

He could feel Sam’s ribs under his fingertips. And Sam’s hip bones were sharp. Benny felt like he would break the man in two just by holding him too tightly in bed.

He rarely, if ever, saw Sam eating. That bothered him more than anything. Benny’s passion in life was food. Cooking it now, though he used to enjoy eating it just as much. It was hard to understand someone depriving themselves of such delights, especially when their stomach was empty often enough that Benny could smell the ketones on Sam’s breath and lingering in the bathroom.

"Cher… please eat." Benny felt like he was close to begging as he held out a plate. It was a light and a small portion, something a constantly empty stomach should be able to bear. Yogurt, some almonds, and a sliced kiwi.

Sam’s smile was a thin line, looking unnaturally stretched as it was forced. His eyes were flat, adding to the wrongness of the smile.

"No, thank you. I ate not long ago." The lie spilled easily from his lips and Benny wanted to throw the dish across the room and let it shatter. With great self control, he nodded tightly and lowered the dish instead. 

"Ah, okay then." Benny’s voice was hoarse, talking around the lump in his throat. He turned swiftly back to the kitchen, dumping the plate into the garbage and then dropping it in the sink with shaking hands. He leaned against the counter and tried to calm himself.

Calm was a difficult thing to come by when your lover was slowly killing himself and pretending everything was fine.

Any and all attempts Benny had made towards denial was lost the next morning when the thud from the bathroom had him running in to find Sam on the floor, soaking wet and naked. His skin was white as the tiles below him.

"Ch- Sam." His voice was soft as he cradled Sam’s head in his hands, caressing a cheek with his thumb. Sam gave a soft ‘hmm’ and opened his eyes, blinking slowly as his eyes sluggishly adjusted to the light.

"Benny?" He blinked some more as a little bit of color returned to his face, now that he was in a downed position. 

"Yeah, Cher." Benny grabbed Sam’s clothes from the chair where they sat and helped Sam into them. It wasn’t too difficult since everything was too big and slid easily over Sam’s limbs. And then they sat in the warm bathroom on the floor.

"I can’t keep doing this." Benny announced quietly, staring at his own knees.

"Doing what?" Sam’s gaze slid over to him from where he leaned against the cool wall.

"I can’t pretend anymore. You’re sick, Sam."

"What, this? This is nothing… just got dizzy."

"Not just this. You know it. I can’t keep lying to myself and to you. You need to eat. I don’t know why you don’t, but you need to." 

"Benny… no." It was the first time Sam didn’t try to deny it or make excuses. Benny supposed that was some sort of step, even if it was to outright refuse.

"I won’t watch you kill yourself. Either you let me help you figure this out on our own… or we find someone else to."

"Or else?" Benny looked up at Sam’s question to see Sam’s eyes narrowed at him, waiting for the ultimatum.

"There is nothing else. I won’t leave you, if that’s what you think. I won’t let you die because I couldn’t handle… whatever this is. We’ll figure it out."

"But I can’t. You don’t understand. I’ve tried to eat. I tried to stop this so many times. I just… can’t. It’s not how it used to be when I was in charge. It’s… different." Sam was shaking now and Benny scooted closer again to wrap his arms around him.

"Well, ya ain’t alone anymore. You don’t have to do it alone." He would do whatever it took to help. And he wouldn’t let go.


	6. Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on eating disorders. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.

Sam was seventeen when it finally got to him.

“Shit, dude… you’re gettin’ heavy.” Dean grunted as he took most of Sam’s weight and half dragged him from the car to the motel. Sam’s head was muddy and thick, but Dean’s voice broke through the concussion with striking clarity and stuck with him. 

“’m fat?” Sam asked, softly slurring his words. 

“Yeah, must be all those salads.” Dean’s sarcasm didn’t make it through and Sam frowned. He made a decision and nodded with affirmative force, forgetting about his head injury, and the last thing he remembered was his knees turning to jelly before everything went black.

It wasn’t this single incident that changed Sam’s relationship with food, but it was the latest in a long string of comments. 

Somewhere in Sam’s mind, he knew Dean hadn’t meant to be cruel, that the comments about Sam’s weight were more directed at his height and muscle mass. They’d been happening ever since Sam gained the few extra inches that put his head slightly higher than Dean’s. 

He knew these things somewhere in the back of his mind. 

That part wasn’t in charge right now. Hadn’t been for a while. Years had passed by and a part of Sam’s mind that started out small, had slowly become more insistent and controlling. 

By the time Dean took him away from the fiery disaster of his once beloved ‘normal’ life, Sam was a few inches taller than before he’d left for Stanford and yet he weighed no more. 

After a few weeks on the road with Dean, he weighed less.

He couldn’t weigh Dean down. He couldn’t be slow. Slow and heavy were dangerous. Fat and lazy were shameful. Hunters needed to be on their toes.

If only he had Dean’s metabolism. If only he could eat a burger swimming in grease and still feel like he was 100% useful. If only he could laze about for a day and enjoy the magic fingers instead of taking a run to burn a few more calories.

But he wasn’t Dean. Sam never felt good enough, strong enough, fast enough. But he always felt like it was an attainable goal. If only he tried harder, cut out more food groups, trained more, ran faster. He was always so close.

Even after Sam explained his distaste for the nickname ‘Sammy’ because it was a name better suited for a chubby kid, Dean still used it. Sam tried not to let it bother him. 

He knew somewhere in his mind that it was a term of affection. 

But the part that was in control knew it meant that Dean still thought he was fat. He’d been trying so hard to be a good hunter, to get in fighting shape after his years at Stanford. He’d failed.

He got reckless, careless, and became self sacrificing. Maybe if he died a hero, it wouldn’t matter how fat he was. Maybe he would be good enough.


	7. A Chubby Twelve Year Old

“Sammy is a chubby twelve year old.”

Dean hated when Sam said things like that. Because, though anyone else would just think Sam thought the name sounded immature and describing any random kid, Dean knew Sam was referring to his own twelve year old body. The kid’s body that had been anything but chubby.

Sam grew up thin and wiry. Hilariously gawky when he hit his growth spurt, like a clumsy giraffe. But never chubby. He barely even had the baby fat for more than a few years. If anything, he was probably underweight his whole life.

But he hadn’t been as fast as Dean, as strong as Dean, as good a shot as Dean. Things that were important for survival as a hunter, but you can’t expect a twelve year old to be as fast or as strong as a sixteen year old. And Sam was better and fast than Dean had been at twelve, but the kid only saw himself failing when he compared himself to his older brother. 

Their father’s critiques were accurate and constructive, but Sam needed more than that. Dean knew and tried to give an ‘attaboy’ here and there, but it wasn’t enough.

Somehow Sam’s mind got everything twisted and his perceived failures were, he thought, because he was obviously fat.

Dean still, to this day, had no idea how that happened. He never saw anyone call the kid fat, families were always trying to get Sam to eat more, even their father sometimes made comments about needing to buy better food so they could get some meat on Sam’s bones.

Sometimes things just get turned around. That’s why it’s a disorder. Dean remembered the doctor saying that and he had to remind himself sometimes. More times when they’d first been dealing with it.

He didn’t know when it started, but he remembered when he noticed. After a hunt that left them covered in blood and guts, Sam and Dean had to change clothes in the garage before they could enter the house. And Dean froze when he saw Sam take his shirt off. 

He could count those ribs and Sam’s vertebrate poked sharply when he hunched to get his shirt all the way off without getting anything on his skin. He looked like a starving work camp survivors in the school’s history books.

“What?” Sam self consciously covered himself up when he caught Dean Staring. Dean didn’t have words. He just wanted to cry. Because what kind of brother doesn’t notice this happening before it gets this far?

After Sam was in bed, Dean talked to their Dad about it. Denial is nice for a while… his solution was just to buy more of Sam’s favorite foods. He’s just too picky, and Dean could live with Sam’s favorites if he was so worried.

Dean went shopping with that plan. And that’s when he realized he didn’t know what Sam liked… because he hadn’t actually seen Sam eat more than three bites of anything at a time.

Dean watched, checked garbage bins after meals, kept bugging Sam to eat more… but he was a teenager himself and was no match for something that big. And that lesson was learned when Sam collapsed at school. He broke his left arm as he fell. And he didn’t wake up until the next day.

A weakened heart and bones as a complication from anorexia nervosa. 

Dean laughed when the doctor told them because, of course it was. And Dean couldn’t figure out why the word ‘anorexia’ never occurred to him. He’d learned about it in health class. He’d seen the tv movies. It just seemed like one of those “that only happens on tv” type things. 

And Sam’s always been a stubborn bitch, so it was a rough recovery. It was hard to convince him he needed to recover from anything at all. Because, yeah, he knew logically that the numbers on the scale were too small for his height. But he insisted he’d rather die skinny than live fat.

Too damn stubborn. The Winchesters were forced to settle down for a while so they could keep Sam in inpatient care. It was the only way to keep him from getting worse.

One month. One month of daily visits where Dean got to see Sam for an hour. And then Sam finally broke down in Dean’s arms and promised to start trying. And then is slowly got better. 

Each day, he’d look a little better, a little happier. Dean knew the kid was eating because the doctors told him so, but he wasn’t allowed there during meals. No guests were. 

When Sam was finally released with a schedule for weekly therapy appointments, John picked him up because Dean was working on dinner. The doctor told him light and healthy meals. Not greasy or too rich. So he made lemon pepper chicken and garlic rubbed asparagus. No butter or cheese or anything that would make it better to Dean. 

He gave Sam a hug, reveling in the new layer between him and Sam’s skeleton. The kid was still bony as hell, but at least it didn’t hurt to hug him. 

Though everyone was glad for Sam to be home, dinner was a tension filled affair. Dean and John tried not to watch Sam and Sam tried to ignore that they were. Dean’s couldn’t help but notice every hesitation when Sam brought his fork to his mouth. He ate slow. He was the last one to finish, but he did finish one small plate of food and Dean excused himself to the bathroom where he broke down in joyful tears.

There was a relapse five months later that threw them for a loop again.

It took about a year before Sam stopped acting almost afraid of food. 

But Dean never stopped being afraid. He read every book at the library on the subject. This shit didn’t go away. Like addiction, recovery didn’t make it disappear. You were an anorexic in recovery, but you were still anorexic. Sam would always be fighting demons.

When Sam went away for school, John’s overreaction was out of fear and not anger. He wanted Sam to be safe. He wanted to make sure Sam ate. Dean wanted the same.

And here they were. Sam and Dean. Sam looked good. Healthy. Dean had seen the kitchen full of food. Fresh food. Clean food. Sam food. And he had a girl. A beautiful blonde who seemed to be make Sam happy.

So he hated when Sam said things like “Sammy’s a chubby twelve year old” because Dean will always fear this demon of Sam’s. 

So he did what he does best. Play it off unless or until Sam actually wants to talk.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you. The music’s too loud.”


	8. Nope

He wasn’t stupid. He knew his old bad habits and behaviors were just that… bad. And he took a small amount of pride in how healthy he was now and how he respected and treated his body.

But sometimes… especially after being convinced by his brother to splurge on a rich dessert, old thought patterns resurfaced.

Right now it was the guilt after eating the brownie with the ice cream on top. As if that one night had ruined years of work and discipline. It sat heavily at the top of his stomach. It would be so much easier to just get rid of it and pretend he never ate it.

And he wouldn’t have to feel guilt about eating it. He chose to forget the feelings of guilt that came after each purge in the past.

He tapped his fingers on his knee as Dean drove them back to their motel. It wasn’t a long drive. Just a little bit out of walking range. He could make it to the toilet in time, but he’d risk Dean knowing (okay not a risk, an all out definite thing) what he was doing. Motel rooms didn’t have the best sound proofing. He’d learned that at a very young age.

“You have a good night? Good to just relax every once in a while, huh?” Dean made casual conversation, pulling Sam out of his own mind.

The younger brother sighed.

“Yeah. I just feel bad.” He decided to get it out. “About dessert. Kinda just… want to get rid of it.”

“Nope.” Dean knew exactly what Sam was talking about. He’d been the one to discover it the first time when Sam was a teenager.

“Just until I hit real food. Then I’d stop.”

“Sam, no. Don’t be stupid. You know it won’t stop there and it wouldn’t be a one time thing. We’ve been over this.” Dean’s tone was casual, but stern. It was almost comforting to Sam for his brother not to freak out over a confession like that.

And he knew that, without asking, Dean would try to keep him busy and distracted until he was sure the urge had passed. 

It was what they did. They help each other without announcing it or calling attention to it. Because that would be awkward.


	9. Just Eat

“Sam, you barely ate anything.” Jessica sighed, motioning at Sam’s plate with her fork. He’d yet to admit it, still denying he had any problems with food and often lying to Jessica’s face, but she knew an eating disorder when she saw one. 

She didn’t know the reason behind it, where Sam’s issues began, but she did all she could to get him to eat. She even gave up most of the junk food she loved (which she had to admit didn’t hurt her figure at all) and started cooking lighter and more healthy meals in hopes that he would eat.

But he still cut his meat up in tiny pieces, moved the vegetables around, and generally played with his food until she was done eating. Then he would start to clear the table, dumping his food in the garbage can.

Tonight she was already on edge. 

And Sam’s full plate just seemed to mock her. Sam shrugged.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I worked hard on this meal. Just eat some.” She tried to guilt him into it.

“I’ll pack some up for tomorrow. I’m sure it’s delicious.” He smiled, standing from his seat.

“Sit. Down.” Her voice left no room for argument and Sam obediently sat, brows furrowing in concern and confusion. “Sam, you can’t do this. Every meal, every damn meal is like this. You’re not hungry, you just ate, blah blah blah. You push around your food to make it look like you ate. I’m not stupid!”

“I don’t think your stupid.” Sam whispered, not addressing the subject of her rant.

“Eat. You are not leaving this table until I am satisfied… whether it’s from you eating enough or you finally admitting you have an eating disorder.”

“I don’t-”

“Then eat. Eat, Sam. If you are fine and healthy, you can eat a goddamned meal!” She didn’t know why she was finally letting it get the better of her, but she found herself throwing her own empty plate at the wall. The plate shattered, leaving silence and a hundred ceramic pieces.

She watched as Sam scooped up one small piece of chicken with his fork. He shakily brought it to his mouth and she saw the hesitation before it was popped into his mouth. He chewed for what seemed like a year before attempting to swallow, but he brought his napkin up last minute and spit into it.

He was shaking.

Her blood pressure dropped back to a normal level and the anger faded away like a bad dream.

“Sam…”

“Fine. You win. I can’t do it. It’s a problem, okay? I admit it. But I’m handling it. I’ve been handling it.” He was staring at the table as he spoke. 

“But Sam…” She waited until he looked up at her. “You don’t have to handle it all on your own.”


	10. Sam Is Hungry (part 1)

“Dean… Sam is hungry.”

Dean startled and rocked back, falling backwards out of his chair.

“Jesus! Cas! I told you not to sneak up like that.” Dean growled as he got up and picked the chair up, sighing when he was that he’d snapped the back left leg. “Okay, what the hell to you mean ‘Sam is hungry’? He’ll eat if he wants.”

“No, it’s… different. He won’t admit it. His stomach is almost always empty. He is deficient in several different nutrients, his heart has a slight arrhythmia, and his bones are brittle and easily breakable.” Castiel listed off medical symptoms with a no nonsense tone. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Sam’s eating disorder.”

“Sam doesn’t have an eating disorder, Cas.” Dean’s voice was tired and tinged with frustration. 

“He does. He has since he was fourteen years old.” Castiel insisted. “It started when you were in the hospital following a hunt involving a poltergeist. He began making rules for himself without realizing it. rules restricting his food intake, rules involving exercise. He was frightened and it was one thing he could control… or he thought he could.”

“So you’re saying my brother’s been starving himself for twelve years and nobody noticed?”

“No. Two teachers, his college girlfriend, and the demon Ruby all noticed.”

Dean’s throat went dry when he realized this was real. 

“And… and you.”

“I have been watching you both since before you were born. I saw when it began. I knew his thoughts, the way he rationalized it, the ways he hid it.” Castiel then cleared his throat and looked down. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and looked guilty. “I did nothing because it didn’t matter at all to me. I watched you both, but I didn’t know you… not really. I do now. And… it matters to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Sam is hungry.”

“Yeah… okay, yeah.”


	11. Sam Is Hungry (part 2)

He didn’t know what to do with the bomb Castiel had dropped on him, so Dean found himself watching his brother. 

His sleep was light, so he noticed when Sam was doing sit ups on the floor in the middle of the night.

He watched Sam eat, or not eat. He noticed that Sam mostly just moved his food around on his plate and talked to distract anyone from noticing that he didn’t eat.

He noticed Sam drank a lot of water right before meals. A lot. 

He dug through Sam’s duffel and found all of Sam’s belts had holes that Sam had punched through them to make them small enough. 

He saw how Sam hid his small frame under layers of clothing. The last time he’d seen Sam’s actual body was right when he’d come back from Hell and found Sam and Ruby together. 

He looked healthy then. But since Cas had said Ruby knew about Sam’s… thing, he guessed she probably had been feeding him more than just her blood.

He also remembered, back when they were looking for Dad, Sam walking around in a towel while Dean poured itching powder in his jeans. It had been less than a year since Sam had lost Jess and she knew about it too. 

Only Dean and their Dad had been the ones too clueless to figure it out. It made him sick. He was supposed to be the one who knew Sam the most. The one who protected and took care of Sam. And he’d been letting Sam starve himself since he was a kid. 

It finally got to be too much for Dean when Dean brought food to the motel and Sam tried to get rid of his salad because he said the lettuce was old and limp.

“Sam, stop it! Just… fucking stop! Stop pretending you give a shit about the quality of the lettuce. Stop pretending you actually wanted to eat. Stop pretending you eat at all! Just… stop!” Dean threw his food onto the table and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

He just needed air. He needed to collect himself. Sam’s refusal of the salad had almost sent him into hyperventilating. 

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice surprised him, but he was too emotionally exhausted to jump.

“So… you were right.”

“I know.” The angel walked beside him on the sidewalk. “Now what?”

“I don’t fucking know. Just… I gotta take care of him. He’s my little brother.”

A light breeze ruffled Dean’s shirt and he looked up to see the space beside him empty once again and he headed back to the motel.

Sam was sitting on his bed when Dean arrived. The salad was still sitting in front of him, and Sam was staring intently at it. 

“Sam-”

“I know.” Sam interrupted. He frowned at the food on the bed, fists bunched up in the bed cover. “That’s… pretty much the same way Jess blew up at me.”

“But it didn’t take her longer than a decade to figure it out. I feel like an ass.”

“No! Don’t. You were the last one I wanted to know. I was most careful to hide it around you. It’s fine though. I have it under control. I know how many calories I need to be functional on a hunt. I would never put you in danger.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Was this really happening?

“Are you kidding me? You think that’s what I’m worried about? The hunt?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Fuck…” Dean lifted his face to the sky and tried not to let tears fall from his face. “I’m the worst brother in the goddamn universe.”

Sam was quiet then, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Sam, I don’t give a shit about the hunt. I do give a shit about you. You can’t do this. It’s not healthy. Cas said you had a heart rhythm-ia-”

“Arrhythmia.”

“Whatever. You have that… and your bones are bad and all sorts of shit. Dude, did you know you can die from this kind of thing? An… eating thing?”

“I don’t… I’m not… Cas said that?”

“He’s worried. So am I.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know what to do here. I don’t know how to help.”

“Jess made me go to a group thing on campus.”

“You wanna go to a group thing?”

“Not really.” Sam mumbled.

“You gonna eat your salad?”

Sam sighed and brought the food closer to himself. He picked at it with shaking hands. Dean sat across from him and watched, trying to be supportive. He couldn’t wrap his brain around what Sam must be going through. Dean loved food and Sam looked terrified of the green leaf in his fingers.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice cracked with tears and it broke Dean’s heart.

“Please, Sammy.”


End file.
